


Gaps in the Galaxy

by ashcrashed



Category: Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-02-15 21:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashcrashed/pseuds/ashcrashed
Summary: Too much time, and yet not enough. A retrospective on the King of Nothing and his journey, filling in the blank spaces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So Endgame was incredibly unkind to Thor in the weirdest ways. The bright side is, I was compelled to write something to make sense of it all. Hopefully it helps. Comments and kudos are most appreciated.

Time was inconsequential.

To some varying degree, as an alien god with several hundred years under his belt, time was certainly something he found fickle. More of a loose interpretation, really. At least so went his clever explanation in his younger days to explain his penchant for lateness.

Time mattered little when there seemed to be so much of it, and even more to do. Conquests and quests, a desire to seek adventures and glory. The thrill of battle and toasting the spoils of a hard-fought victory with his friends.

All he had now was time. The empty nothingness of it, stretching sluggishly onwards into a future that seemed...impossibly quiet.

No victory. No friends. No more family. No more kingdom.

In the early days it was easy--when shock and anger were bedfellows of his guilt and despair--to replay the moments in his mind. Where he was better and faster. When his rage hadn’t bested him and he could consider things clearly. A far cry from now, another fallen hero sinking deeper into dense, unyielding silence.

He was on Earth and his people were....somewhere. If they even were a people left. The two hundred or so who managed to escape Thanos’ wrath and into the pods were as lost to him as his brother. As his best friend.

As she was.

Brave Valkyrie, who’d guided the Asgardians too terrified or too feeble to fight, leading them to safety as Thor worked to hold off the invasion and destruction for as long as he could. He could recall the look in her eyes, the flicker of fear quickly giving way to a fiery kind of determination that told him enough. That she would do everything to protect their people.

He could only press his forehead to hers, steady fingers cupping the back of her neck to keep her close for as long as he dared because he didn’t want to face the uncertain future having left that in the unknown. The warmth of her words washing over him, whispered in haste before she pulled away, leaving him to fulfill her duty and him to his doom, but then, it’d seemed like enough. More than he could hope for in the moment, with their world in flames.

_“Don’t die, Your Majesty.”_

Time’s cruelest trick of all...to leave him alive, surrounded by cinder and specters.

Not enough time. Not in time. Never enough. Never quick enough.

And now they were gone. To dust or to the stars, he wasn’t entirely sure. He no longer felt the pull of his people, the weight of obligation.

Asgard, no longer a place but always a people. But the people were ash.

He was a King of Nothing and Nowhere.

The glimmer of hope in getting it all back had been snatched away. The damn stones gone, and the galaxy still fractured, with time simply a ruthless reminder of his shortcomings. What was the point, then? What to consider? To weigh options and listen to reason? There was nothing left. Nothing but rage and guilt, propelling him once more, blindly, unthinkingly into action.

As he swung the axe with the surest and deadliest of precision, cleaving the Mad Titan’s head from his shoulders, Thor felt nothing at all. A hollow satisfaction and he turned, eyes seeing nothing and no one in a slow stumble towards the door, breathing raggedly as his fingers trembled and curved tighter around the gnarled wood of the star-forged weapon, ignoring the calls of his shattered teammates.

Too late, too little, too much, too heavy to hold.

He was through with ‘if onlys’.

He simply wanted to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asgard returns to him on a Wednesday.
> 
> A year and a half since the snap and its aftermath, according to the calendar in his room at the Avengers compound. But truthfully, he’d lost track a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally this was much longer but it felt like two pieces in one, and I ended up splitting it into different chapters. So it's looking like I'll be writing at least two more chapters than I intended which is totally unsurprising since I'm a rambler. Anywho, enjoy.

Asgard returns to him on a Wednesday.

A year and a half since the snap and its aftermath, according to the calendar in his room at the Avengers compound. But truthfully, he’d lost track a long time ago.

He sat in one of the general common rooms, the large flat screen television on the wall playing something he certainly hadn’t been paying attention to when Natasha’s voice snapped him out of his stupor.

“You need to come outside.”

It was a gorgeous day, sunny with a slight breeze and Thor shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his grey hoodie when he fell in step with Nat, the pair heading out the main entrance. Her glance was brief, as if she were silently debating her words only to opt out of small talk, which Thor was grateful for. Instead she gave a short rundown as they circled around to the back of the building. 

“Landed about twenty minutes ago in the North Field. Looks like they had the exact coordinates. The pilot asked specifically about you.”

The empty clearing just before a dense thicket of lush forest was no longer empty. Instead, a large and obviously alien ship was parked there. The doors were open but there seemed to be a lone figure outside. It only took a brief moment and an almighty lurch deep in the pit of his stomach for Thor to recognize the dark curls, longer than before but still intricately braided in the old ways of the elite warrior guard.

Her arms were bare, hands settled on her hips, showcasing the lean muscle of her biceps and the brief flash of a tattoo etched on her inner wrist that  he couldn’t exactly make out from the distance but knew the shape of its design by heart. There was a sword strapped to her back, the Asgardian dragonfang glinting in the sun as she paced back and forth in front of the ship’s open doors, stopping abruptly at the sound of their approaching footsteps and the low timbre of Thor’s voice, unable to mask his disbelief.

“Valkryie?”

It seemed she’d been bracing herself, steeling her nerves in anticipation; he could tell from the firm set of full lips and the tightness in shoulders that sagged with relief at the sight of him.

“Perhaps  the exhaustion and alcohol cloud my memory, but I’m certain you were down one eye last we saw each other.”

His smile then was pure reflex and unmistakably genuine, feeling both foreign and familiar as he drank in the sight of her. “It’s a long, long story. There's a rabbit involved.”

Unthinkingly, perhaps  instinctively, his hands reached for her, a slight tremor in fingers that curved at the base of her neck to bring them closer, mirroring the last time they’d embraced just like this, forehead meeting hers on a slow exhale.

“I thought…”

“I know, Your Majesty,” she replied thickly, emotion obvious in her normally smooth husk and Thor realized just how much he missed the sound of her voice. It'd been far too long.

He leaned into the careful caress of her fingers grazing his jaw, while his thumbs brushed the apples of her cheeks and it seemed, at least for the moment, his world grew steady and still.

Reluctantly, he parted, but not without dropping a kiss to her brow that he was sure, had the circumstances not been as they were, would have earned him a knife to the throat and a ‘don’t get familiar’.

This time, it was only met with a ghost of a smile he couldn’t decipher but decided looked good on her anyway. “Glad to see you listened to my good advice on the ‘not dying’.”

“I managed, just barely” he replied, with only the barest hint of bitterness. “Probably could have used your help. The people--”

“A little over a hundred left. We lost some in the escape, then more to the dust.”

Of course. Thor’s ducked his head, feeling the tightness in his chest slowly creeping back as Valkryie continued to speak.

“When we stopped on Xandar to refuel and restock supplies, we learned it happened all over. Korg remembered the coordinates, and we set the course for Earth. Haven’t lost anyone since then. There’s actually been a few births. Not much else to do in space.”

Thor attempted a smile at her valiant effort at humor  but it felt more like a grimace as guilt took hold, finding purchase in the pit of his stomach and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He’d made the right choice in staying behind to fight to give his people a chance, only for it all to end in loss and more Asgardian deaths. He could have, _should_ have saved more…

The anger came swiftly, blooming under his skin and with a crackle of white-hot energy at his fingertips, but  his attention diverted when he felt Valkyrie’s hand resting on his shoulder.

“You did what you had to. So did I. The people are still here. _We're_ still here. That is what matters.”

She was right and deep down, he knew it. But Thor couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. He nodded, half-heartedly and dropped his gaze from the sharp, searching look in chestnut eyes.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Natasha offered, looking between the pair. “At least until you figure out the next step.”

The next step.

It all felt like floating. The return of Asgard brought him back to the throne, and all the responsibility that came with it. Existing so long with the absence of duty only for the mantle of king at his fingertips once more should have felt more...exciting. Finally, a real task, his true purpose. A king of nothing no longer. Now, perhaps he could settle and mourn with his people at their heavy losses and maybe, just maybe  process his own grief. He’d managed to shove it deep down in favor of coasting in a haze of nothingness for so long and now...he wasn’t sure if he knew how to be any other way.

“You don’t have to decide right now.” It was Natasha again, the quiet understanding in her tone feeling like more than he deserved. He should have prepared himself. Valkyrie, even out of practice for centuries on Sakaar, was a highly skilled warrior; if anyone was capable of completing their initial mission guiding their people safely to Earth, it was her.

So why hadn’t he anticipated it? He’d lost so much, so soon, so quickly...maybe, hoping for a turn in tide and the possibility of seeing her once more was far too risky a gamble. To allow himself to hope, after everything he’d lost felt like leaving himself open for more hurt, and the terrifying notion that he was well and truly alone.

Not knowing meant no thinking or hoping. A poor man's version of peace, but the kind he was willing to accept if it meant lessening the burden. But now it was a different kind of burden and Thor could feel his resolve buckle slightly under the weight of the crown and expectation. What could he offer them? What comforting word or rousing speech or promises would be enough to soothe their trauma? From Ragnarok and the destruction of their homeland, to fleeing Thanos, and wandering through space towards an Earth with no guarantee of a safe haven. Indeed, no place in the universe was spared the effects of Thanos’ snap.

Still, he had a duty. They were counting on him, and he couldn’t-- _wouldn’t_ \--fail. Not again.

“We’ll stay,” he announced, voice firm and resolute. “They should rest while we find a solution for a permanent dwelling.” His  rumbled words were met with a short nod from Nat.

“Good. I’ll make the arrangements, get something temporary set up. I’m sure everyone would appreciate some fresh air.” She gave Thor’s arm a gentle squeeze  and inclined her head in Valkyrie’s direction before heading back to the entrance, no doubt already forming plans for the Asgardians. Thor had to admire her efficiency.

His gaze drifted to Valkyrie, taking in her unreadable expression, though he could tell she was keenly observing him in a way that felt as if she knew exactly the messy jumbled state of his thoughts and emotions.

And yet, there were no searching questions, no demands for answers he couldn’t give. Instead, the Valkyrie held out her hand in offering and he accepted, callused fingers threading easily through hers, strong and slender and holding tightly to his own as they walked towards the ship’s open doors.

“Come. Our people will be glad to see their king.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was much to do before they left the compound for a brand new country and permanent home, the two month deadline slowly chipping away until a week or two remained, and Thor once again found himself restless and unable to sleep, wandering the empty halls of the facility and in different rooms, mostly the kitchen and the many mini-gyms, distracting himself with food or mindless movement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive reactions, it's been really encouraging.

There was, at first--in the aftermath of the After--a period of trying. 

Of waking up, and training, and living beyond simply existing. Their numbers were down, gone like so many others, with the rest were scattered across the globe and galaxy, but the team was still a team. With Natasha running point in the upstate compound, Rhodey shoring up things in Manhattan, there was little left for Thor to really take on, least nearby, but he hardly felt much like traveling further out, merely keeping up with the weekly rundowns provided by Okoye and the rest of the team.

More often than not, he’d find himself seeking solitude in the small upstate town just past the compound’s forest barrier, in a bar that only took cash and asked no questions. The liquor burned and the jukebox never worked the way anyone wanted, playing whatever song it desired no matter how hard the buttons were mashed, but the glasses were clean and he could drink in peace...with only the occasional skirmish. 

Breaking up bar squabbles and stopping petty thefts didn’t exactly hold weight next to fighting for the for the fate of the universe . And one night, when large, trembling fists landed a little too hard on the weak jaw of an obnoxious Midgardian itching for a confrontation at said local watering hole, he decided he didn’t need that particular hassle and the attention sure to follow.

Because ‘keeping the peace’ felt a little too much like forgetting, and Thor couldn’t forget. Couldn’t stop replaying the moment when the light left Loki’s eyes, couldn’t breathe through the tight feeling in his chest when he clutched his brother in his arms, willing it all to be one of the morbidly unfunny practical jokes he was so fond of. Glassy blue eyes staring at nothing, seeing nothing, not anymore. Gone. Like Mother. Like Father. Like Heimdall and Volstagg and Fandral and Hogun and...and…

But that was before. Now, there was a purpose. His people had returned, and even in the dwindled and decimated numbers, there were still a large group that depended on him. Asgard--this time--would be built not on the strength of war and conquest, but in paperwork. The logistics of it all, of land grants and proposals was, not in the least, his area of expertise but he’d always been a quick study with diplomacy. 

Deals were made, papers were signed, and they were granted a parcel of land in a place called Norway that Thor at once remembered from his last moments with his father. The green of the land, the salty air by a vibrant blue sea. Calm and peaceful...it would provide Asgard with much needed stability. 

There was much to do before they left the compound for a brand new country and permanent home, the two month deadline slowly chipping away until a week or two  remained, and Thor once again found himself restless and unable to sleep, wandering the empty halls of the facility and in different rooms, mostly the kitchen and the many mini-gyms, distracting himself with food or mindless movement. 

A few rounds on the bag in the training rooms was a paltry substitute for the actual fight his body longed for each time hefty punches connected with the hanging bag, but it was better than knuckles bloodied from a grimy barroom brawl that would no doubt end in a lawsuit. 

The quiet of the empty gym was punctured by the repetitive thud of muscle meeting resistance and the shuffle of feet shifting around the moving bag as he worked and pushed himself as far as his body would allow which lately, wasn’t nearly as far as it used to be. He felt sluggish and stupid, muscles aching with the effort he exuded, wanting to chase the pleasant burn he used to feel, the surge of energy and pure power as lightning crackled under his skin. It’d been far too long since he felt whole.

Thor’s arms dropped, the sudden pause in rapid movement causing him to tip forward and he just barely steadied himself against the hanging bag, narrowly avoiding toppling over. Soaked with sweat, a wave of exhaustion washed over him and he struggled to even his labored breathing. The tightness in his chest eventually subsided, enough for him to push away from the bag. 

“You’re extending your left too far out.” 

The unexpected critique broke through his panting and Thor started a little at the intrusion. Valkyrie stood in the doorway, observant as always. “It’s leaving your side unprotected,” she offered, and Thor grimaced because she was spot-on. “Good way to get a shot to the ribs.” 

Thor, bent forward with his palms braced on his knees, conceded with a small grunt. “Good thing the bag doesn’t hit back.” 

“Maybe that’s the problem.” He could practically hear the amusement in her offer and Thor had to weigh the offer. They had sparred before, killing time while the Statesman had floated towards Earth with some spirited rounds in the ship’s makeshift training room. She was a formidable opponent, meeting his strength and agility with considerable skill and enthusiasm. 

Even her time on Sakaar, drinking to drown out her past had only dulled her senses but the raw, natural talent and centuries of Valkyrior training remained. A lesson he learned the hard way after being thoroughly bested in their earliest bouts. He'd emerge sore and sweaty and smiling broadly, earning an eyeroll or two from his opponent.

She was a walking weapon, though in this particularly late hour she appeared far more serene than he’d ever seen her. Clad in fitted grey joggers and a loose navy tank top with the Stark Industries logo on the front, and dark curls gathered in a single braid down her back, she looked youthful. Her cheeks were flushed and judging from the whiff of Migardian liquor he’d caught wafting from her as she stepped closer, he knew he hadn’t been the only one looking for a late night distraction. 

“Perhaps another time,” he told her, fully intending to keep his promise. 

The taut muscles of her bare forearms flexed slightly as she reached for his hands. He’d forgotten to wrap them and his knuckles bore the brunt of his blunder. The skin was red but hadn’t broken, the feel of her thumb skimming the sensitive, stinging bruises caused him to shudder just a little. 

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. It was familiar, and Thor liked that.. A relic from his former life, a still point in the midst of chaos, reminding him of those late nights aboard the Statesmen, when neither could sleep, internal clocks all screwed up from the endless scope of stars but they somehow managed to find themselves in the same place, when everyone else had gone to bed. 

With the ship sailing steadily on course and them, sharing a bottle of something potent and pilfered from the Grandmaster’s vast collection as the stars drifted by. Sometimes they talked, but mostly, it was companionable quiet, rare moments of peace. With a solemn victory at their back and the harsh reality of heavy losses to come, Thor appreciated those times more than ever. Something he’d desperately held to before she’d managed to find her way back to him, across the galaxy. 

He let her fingers drift through his, slipping them into his firm grip with a false sense of ease, unused to the gentle touch. It’d been far too long. For him, and for her. The quiet kindness  in connecting feeling like more than either of them deserved. Nevertheless, he appreciated the gesture, turning up his palm to let hers rest atop his, neither speaking yet, but the touch was enough to make the silence anything but unbearable.

And Thor supposed it was the endorphins (or at least the alcohol in Valkyrie's case) that brought them closer, his forehead meeting hers, their fingers clasped and he grunted with approval when her free hand clutched at the bare, flushed skin of his bicep. 

The unsteadiness in his footing returned when Valkyrie swayed slightly but he managed to right them both, muscled arm curling around her waist and pressing her tighter to him, and he felt her laughter, the smooth husk of it vibrating between them before she spoke again. 

"Are we dancing?" came the question, full of whiskey-tinged mirth and only slightly muffled when her forehead dipped lower, comfortably tucked beneath his collarbone. 

"It would seem so, my lady." 

Valkyrie gave a tiny hum and tightened her hold on his arm. "Not the contact I was hoping for...but it's nice."

That earned a laugh, a deep one that seemed to burst out of him before he had the good sense to stifle himself. How long had it been since laughter? Certainly not before the Valkryie found him again. So seamless it was, how she fit at his side. A fellow Revenger. Most trusted advisor.. It was in this moment, however, wrapped in his arms and swaying gently in the calming quiet, that she was dearest to him. 

"I half expect to feel a knife at my throat any moment now," came his attempt at teasing, needing to divert himself with humor lest he do something foolish...like cry...or kiss her. 

Though as the Valkyrie lifted her head, gleaming dark eyes meeting his own heated gaze, 'foolish' felt a lot like right. 

"No knives, my king. Not tonight." Her hand settled at the back of his neck as her thumb idly stroked his cheek and Thor found himself nuzzling into the soothing touch. 

She was on her tiptoes, slippered feet barely skimming the cold floor to compensate for their height differences and Thor dipped his head lower, meeting her lips in a tender press and catching the slow, trembling exhale that slipped between her parted lips, tasting the lingering traces of liquor.

A purely impulsive decision...the first since he separated Thanos' head from his shoulders. 

Judging from the way Valkyrie pushed against him, this time in a deeper, searching kiss, it'd been the right choice. 

It was easy to get lost in the teasing glide of an eager mouth, and the sounds she made, breathy little noises which tumbled out with each nip to his bottom lip, gentle at first, as if testing his response only to bite a little harder at Thor's insistent growl. 

Untangling their fingers, Thor's hand fell to her throat, stroking the soft skin at her collarbone with his thumb and meeting hot, tonguing kisses with fervor, swallowing those raspy sounds between his own rumbling groans.

"Harder," Valkyrie gasped, pushing her neck against his fingers and he flexed his grip before cupping her throat, adding just the slightest of pressure, while stealing her low keen of pleasure with another heady kiss. 

Their bodies moved in an easy give and take, tight curves meeting hard muscle and those quick, wandering hands of hers pushed under his tank, skimming over the rippled plane of his stomach with a soft moan of approval leaving Thor a little dazed and he exhaled shakily, breaking their kiss to drop his forehead to her shoulder. 

"Thor…" 

There was a pleading edge to the husky groan of his name and he pushed out another unsteady breath, large hands catching her waist and keeping her close, greedy for the contact. 

Her fingers found his hair, blunt nails lightly scraping his scalp as she smoothed a gentle rhythm through the sweat-soaked strands. 

He wanted, wanted, wanted...even as the guilt roiled deep in his belly. For a moment he'd forgotten himself, putting aside the sadness in favor of whiskey-tinged kisses and the surprisingly gentle touch of a trusted friend who still drank to ease the heavy strain of her troubles. It seemed unfair to burden her with his own as well.

“It’s okay,” he felt her mumble into his cheek and for a wild moment Thor wondered if he’d spilled his truth, but realized it was general comfort. 

He straightened up, just enough as she would allow. Her hands still cupped his face and he found himself trapped in the firm hold as she regarded him, feeling bare beneath her searching gaze and he knew, even with the liquor she downed earlier she was sharp as ever. 

"You think I don't know what it's like, wanting to forget?" she asked him. 

Thor ducked his head, the tips of his ears warming at her words. "I shouldn't presume to be so forward…"

Full lips twisted into a ghost of a smirk. "Little late for that. Besides, it's not presuming when I want it, too."

"Valkyrie…"

"Brunnhilde."

Thor started at that, brow arched in silent surprise at the casual reveal. She'd kept it close to her chest, opting for a shake of her head and a 'not yet' when he'd inquired on the Statesman during one of their late nights watching the stars. Back then, he’d only nodded and passed the bottle. There were layers she was unready and unwilling to peel back. He could relate, then and now. 

Surprise gave way to understanding and Thor touched a hand to one still cupping his face, thumb tenderly tracing her knuckles. "Brunnhilde." 

Her smile was soft at the gentle rumble and there was only a brief moment of hesitation before she pushed up slightly to kiss him, barely catching the second whisper of her name when they parted once more. 

"I might have something for those bruises." She dropped her hands and reached for one of his, turning over the large palm to check his knuckles, more swollen than before, and angry looking. 

Thor moved to full height, hissing softly from the ache in his lower back and the more pronounced pain in his fingers, struggling to clench them into a proper fist. His round with the bag had done more damage than he realized. Still, he tried to shake it off, broad shoulders lifting in a half-hearted attempt at casual. "It'll heal."

“Yes, it will,” she countered, along with a rather impressive eyeroll. “The salve will see to it.” 

Part of him wanted to disagree. To satisfy himself with the relentless throb in his hands, feeling wholly undeserving of her attentions. But they were friends. He recalled their moment on the bridge...when he’d presented her with the armor of the Valkyrior. The glint in chestnut eyes, full of gratitude and a fear that Thor realized had nothing to do with Hela but rather, the armor itself and what putting it on again meant. 

He felt it now, the pressure of the crown, the weight of his demons, and how easy it had been to distract himself from it all with the tenderness she’d offered. 

“Perhaps another time.” It felt more like a brush off than a promise this go round, and judging from her imperceptible nod,  the Valkyrie felt the same. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Busy day tomorrow.” 

Slender fingers slipped from his grasp and Thor watched her leave, willfully ignoring the pain in his hands and the traces of whiskey he swore he could taste on his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crisp morning air carried the smell of the sea, and sometimes, it made him nostalgic. Made him think of his mother. Beautiful Frigga, who loved the water and taught him to do the same. Vivid memories returned of their time spent by the waters of Asgard, her patience and laughter while teaching her sons to swim. Safe in her hold, he floated along, feeling weightless and soothed by the sweet sound of her voice, letting the gentle current guide them further out. He’d been fearless even then, trusting in his mother’s strength, her ability to keep them both afloat, with no thought to what would lie ahead beyond the safety of the shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally didn't mean to disappear for like three months. But here, have an extra long chapter to make up for it. Thanks to [jaxxOnasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxxOnasty/pseuds/jaxxOnasty) for being a great soundboard and letting me ramble my ideas to her whenever.

The crisp morning air carried the smell of the sea, and sometimes, it made him nostalgic. Made him think of his mother. Beautiful Frigga, who loved the water and taught him to do the same. Vivid memories returned of their time spent by the waters of Asgard, her patience and laughter while teaching her sons to swim. Safe in her hold, he floated along, feeling weightless and soothed by the sweet sound of her voice, letting the gentle current guide them further out. He’d been fearless even then, trusting in his mother’s strength, her ability to keep them both afloat, with no thought to what would lie ahead beyond the safety of the shore. 

Those mornings, like this one in particular,  when he managed to drag himself out of bed and outside before dawn, he would watch the sun break from behind the clouds and over the cliffs, drink in hand to keep the chill at bay. He would take the pockets of peace wherever he could get them, before the tasks of the day and royal obligations called to him.

Lately Thor found himself caught in a different kind of drifting, in a deeper sea, with no guiding hand to keep him from straying too far. Norway had been a promise of a settled peace for his people, and for the most part, it was. New Asgard thrived in the seaside settlement. Asgardians were, by their very nature, a determined people, unafraid of hard work and many found putting their considerable skills to good use was rewarding. 

Shops lined the stone streets of their village, selling handmade goods, carved artwork and sturdy furniture made from wood and metal sourced locally and crafted by the people. The townsfolk in the surrounding areas were fascinated with them, venturing into the tavern owned by a schoolyard friend of Thor's who delighted the Midgardians with robust ale and tales of myth and glorious adventures that every Asgardian knew by heart.

Crafters, healers, fisherfolk...it seemed that most of his people had found their place within their new home. Including, unsurprisingly, the Valkyrie. It'd taken considerable time for the construction of their village by the sea. And upon their arrival, the pair had worked alongside one another, consulting on building plans and permits, lending a hand in the construction efforts. Thor valued her council. She was firm, fair, and had a way of charming people with a blunt honesty that never quite felt like scolding. The long stretch of time their people had spent with her, first on the escape pods and then a ship in space had strengthened the general opinion of her as a brave and trusted leader. 

Perhaps he leaned heavily on her...though nothing like that one night back at the compound. There hadn't been another since then. Over a year later, but he could still recall the hitch in her breathing and the press of her frame against him as vividly as that night in the gym. It had been some kind of silent collective agreement not to bring it up, and Thor supposed it was for the best. The people were their foremost concern, and most days, the effort took it out of him. 

The more he worked, the busier he kept his hands during the day, the less time his mind had to drift to darker places, where guilt took hold. And the evening, he retreated to his hut, high on the grassy hill where the air smelled of salt and sea and he could finally, finally tune it out. Korg would visit, bringing along video games and his brand of cheerful chattiness that was oddly comforting in a way, since he never expected Thor to always have a response. 

Occasionally, when he didn't feel like bothering (or explaining himself to) the local Asgardian brewer, the Midgardian spirits worked in a pinch. It became a game of science, trying to work out the right amount he could drink to ease the pain of his thoughts into a bearable nothingness. 

At first, it was a nighttime thing, a way to unwind from the long days of overseeing construction projects and putting on a face for the people. But it shifted, moving in a way that Thor himself couldn't have detected, becoming the habit to boost his bounce out of bed in the mornings. A nip of whiskey in his coffee, beer with lunch, and enough with his dinner that he wouldn’t have to do much more than knock out at nighttime. 

It never affected him before, recalling previous visits to Migard involving drinking and fellowship with the Avengers where more often than not, he’d be the last one standing after get togethers, laughing along with Steve at the others who, one by one, would tap out of the evening’s imbibing in various states of buzzed. Thor couldn’t decide if the serum played a part in his high tolerance or if the Captain was that much of a teetotaler, since his highball glass never appeared empty, even as he sipped for hours. 

But the mood was considerably different now, and Thor could only recall a handful of times when the drinking had been for a genuinely pleasant reason. The toasting of a new babe born to a joyous family. The completed construction of the last house in their little village. And today would hold such an occasion. A wedding, certainly to be a great morale booster for the people...and something Thor wished to avoid. The thought of merriment and dodging the various looks of concern while sporting his own version of feigned happiness exhausted him, already in the early hours.

He knew his lack of presence would no doubt be a topic of discussion among the Asgardians, and Thor wasn’t ready for questions he couldn’t give answers to. Instead, he found himself hiding away in his cliffside cabin, drinking from a chipped mug. Korg arrived an hour later, and if he was surprised to find the King of Asgard still in his flannel pajama bottoms while lively music from the ceremony drifted upwards, his expression gave nothing away, greeting Thor with his trademark chipperness and making a beeline to the television.

Settled in a sturdy chair hand carved by Asgardian craftsmen, sipping the ale made in the old ways by their brewmaster, Thor let the sounds of Korg's shouts and game commentary lull him into distraction. Which, lately, seemed to be his default mode. The quiet made him think, but company without the need for talking proved ideal. The occasional hum and stray laughter would satisfy Korg (at least Thor could pretend it did, if he ignored the furtive, concerned glances he'd catch between campaigns), and alcohol handled the rest.

It numbed the senses, particularly with the explosions of battle and gunfire from Korg's video game that felt a little too real and made him want to crawl out of his own skin. The more he drank, the more muffled it all became, gradually fading into nothingness as sleep overtook him. 

Thor shifted awake to what felt like only a brief moment but judging from the room, now pitch dark and empty, it was surely much later. With a groan he sat up, the cup tumbling to the floor with a thud that seemed to echo in his head, and it took him a moment to realize the pounding persisted and was coming from the front door. 

Another groan and he was on his feet, shuffling unsteadily and ready to tell whomever it was to knock it off, though the words died on his lips when he was face to face with the Valkyrie. Brunnhilde took one glance at him before shouldering her way into the little house, turning on lights as she made a path to the kitchen. 

"You smell like a tavern. Not even the fun kind. Go shower."

Her voice gave absolutely nothing away, and Thor, still bleary-eyed from the unexpected nap (and the day drinking) decided not to protest. Instead, he shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom. The light in there was harsh, and the mirror unforgiving, but he barely spared it a glance as he shed his clothing and stepped into the shower. 

The water was hot and he took his time, scrubbing at his skin and washing his hair. By the time he re-emerged, he’d felt...well only slightly better. But at least the state of him was much improved. The space seemed warmer and he wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with the sweatpants he now sported, cleaner than the previous pair, and a t-shirt  he could have sworn wasn’t this...snug last month.  

He shuffled back down the hallway, thick woolen socks sliding along the wood floors when he entered the main room. He found her at the sturdy little table in the kitchen, fingers clasped around a steaming mug with another across from her. Taking the invitation (and feeling a little foolish that he considered asking permission to sit in his own house) Thor settled into the chair and reached for the other mug. It was hot, wisps of steam rising from the liquid that smelled so familiar, it tugged at him. Bergamot and berries, delicate and floral but rich and soothing in a way that felt like home. “Thank you,” he told her gratefully, taking a sip and at once feeling the throbbing tension at his temples easing to a dull ache.

She gave a small hum at that, and the two fell into a silence that wasn’t exactly companionable but didn’t necessarily need to be filled with words, though it was palpable, the weight of the unsaid between them. He braced himself for a lecture. Surely he deserved it. The wedding was a missed opportunity, a chance to get out and be amongst his people, to partake in an occasion that didn’t involve sadness or comfort, but some semblance of peace and joy owed to the weary Asgardians. 

But it all felt...impossible. Getting out, being seen, forcing himself into the role of king when it no longer seemed to fit him quite right. But mostly, he shouldered the guilt of letting her down. How she had to search him out, finding him behind the curtain, in the midst of a mighty wallow.

"How was the wedding?" It seemed like the easiest (and safest) place to start, just in case she wasn't in the mood to engage in stilted and sparse conversation. That seemed to be the only kind between them as of late. 

And it showed no sign of changing, at least judging from the response he received, the 'fine' not entirely chilly, but lacking her usual fire. There was an air of resignation, as if she'd already braced herself to be disappointed by him before even knocking on the door. 

Once again, he could recall the last time he’d been alone with her like this, and the long stretch of strained politeness that followed. There were no more late nights drinking together, or talks of sparring matches. She had a new royal guard to train and fight with now, and Thor had heard whispers of late nights spent with a pretty Midgardian who lived in a nearby town. From the look of it, forgetting about their 'almost' encounter was easier for her. 

It was harder for him. Yet another matter he'd fumbled badly, leaving their growing connection stunted on the vine. But there, in his tiny kitchen, he couldn't help the stirrings of familiar feelings. The flush of her cheeks was about the same again, signs that she too had no doubt been drinking that evening (though, surely for a much happier reason, he’d hoped) while Thor’s own head was cloudy with alcohol and dizzy as he tried his best to keep his thoughts from sinking further into memories of that night and how they drifted from each other since then. 

Still, he couldn’t help himself from getting a good look at her, close as they were...closer than they’d been in well over a year. The soft lilac sundress she wore complimented her warm skin, shoulders bare and golden from the sunshine that made the perfect setting for a wedding...and a complete contrast to the greying numbness in his own head. A few sprigs of flowers were delicately woven into her braided crown of curls and she never looked lovelier...except perhaps in battle armor. 

“You look beautiful, Lady Valkyrie” he told her, mug meeting the table with a soft clunk as he offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was warm all the same. 

Brunnhilde made another brief noise of acknowledgement, gaze briefly moving beyond their space at the kitchen to take in the sight of the empty bottles and plates scattered on the coffee table. She stood out amongst the clutter and chaos of the room, radiant in a way that made Thor feel unworthy. Still, she made no comment on it, and Thor wasn’t sure if he was relieved by the lack of judgment or shamed by it, especially when dark eyes returned to him, studying him in that quiet and measured way of hers.

“And you look...beardly.” 

Thor gave a small snort, the sound catching him by surprise. “I suppose it’s been some time since I had a trim.” An understatement. His grooming habits had fallen to the wayside, a carefree move on the surface but Thor could feel the indifference settling in, like fleshiness at his hips and the roundness of his once flat abs.

“That does explain the longer hair here, too,” she observed. Bold fingers reached up to tuck a stray blond strand behind his ear. It’d grown long enough again for him to pull back in a bun and Thor only barely resisted the urge to close his eyes when her touch drifted to his beard. “I can’t remember the last time I saw your face.” 

The double meaning wasn't lost on him. Unless it was a matter related to the people, they didn't see much of each other. Thor wasn't sure when it all started...perhaps somewhere around the time the last house was completed, and when getting out of bed in the mornings became a daily battle.  

Thor didn’t respond right away but shifted closer, elbow resting on the table while he dipped his head in apology. In deference. He couldn’t be sure, but was rewarded with more of the lingering grazes. "I'm around."

The sharp tug as she lifted his gaze to meet hers was unexpected, a small grunt slipping out but Thor did his best not to falter under her scrutiny. "Here, but not here. I know what it looks like."

"I cannot…" Thor sighed, untangling himself from her touch, the wooden chair creaked under him as he shifted back. "I don't know how to be." The admittance tasted bitter, and a fresh wave of shame washed over him. It was one thing to think it, to shoulder the disappoint on his own through meetings he skipped or daily tasks he could no longer pay attention to. It was quite another to voice it aloud, to the one person whose council he valued most. It felt like failure all over again.

“Nearly everyone here has lost something or someone,” Brunnhilde replied, not unkindly but rather, in understanding. “Still, here we remain. Left to build a life in a new place. Perhaps not the same, but better, in a different way.” 

“Is it really any better?” The irritation swelled suddenly in him. Less at her, but rather the situation. Distantly, he could hear the gentle rumble of thunder; it felt like ages since he’d called forth his powers. There was little need for them in the day to day, save for a surprise rain shower out of sheer boredom. But that had long lost its appeal and he settled for being as ordinary as the circumstances would allow. 

Still, the bitterness of his predicament would not leave him, and the time alone had allowed it to take root, choking out the goodwill that a new country and home should have provided. 

Brunnhilde levelled him with a stern look. “Would you have rathered floating aimlessly through the galaxy? This was the best choice. It was decided before Thanos’ cruelty and it was the smart play afterwards. The good it has brought...the stability. Look to your people, Your Majesty. It is not easy. _None_ of this is easy. But better? Absolutely.”

Her voice had barely lifted above it’s usual husk, but Thor couldn’t help but wince, feeling gobsmacked by the hard dose of reality.  “The people. They are all that matter.” The words he’d spoken as Ragnarok loomed before them, real and terrifying. And the nights spent wide awake aboard the Statesman, passing a bottle between them in silent tribute to the things they’d lost when Asgard exploded in fire and memories. Before Thanos. Before the dust. 

Thor sipped his tea, feeling a burn behind dry eyes and he rubbed at them. His hand dropped to the table and he was surprised at how quickly she caught it, slender fingers threading between his own as she gave a firm squeeze.

“ _You_ matter. To your people. To _me_.” 

The words hung in the air and uncharacteristic softness of it all stirred something deep in his gut, heated bloom of them bringing a flush to full cheeks. Thor lifted their joined hands, lips tenderly grazing her knuckles. He didn’t believe that--didn't know if he _could_ \--but the words warmed him in a way that nothing had in so very long. 

“I am in your debt, Brunnhilde.” He liked the way her name felt on his tongue, his mind drifting back to the fit of her in his arms, that night in New York. When, like a coward, he pushed away. Thor wasn’t entirely sure if the outcome tonight would be the same, but her hand was still tucked in his and it was enough to hope for something different. That _he_ could be different.

“You owe me nothing. Except, perhaps a proper dance.” 

Thor managed a weak smile at that, thumb caressing the silky skin at her knuckles. “Then I shall see to it that the lady is paid in kind.” He went quiet again, mind drifting to the question needling at him, even as the fog of alcohol still pressed at his brain. “How did you do it? All those years on Sakaar? How did you just...be?” 

Brunnhilde’s grip flexed in his hold as dark eyes held his gaze. “By not thinking, mostly. Keeping it to the basics. Fight. Fuck. Live.”

“I’m not much use for fighting. Not anymore. I’d rather the other.” 

“What,” Brunnhilde questioned. “Live?” 

He opted for silence and simply tugged her hand to pull her towards him, thankful when she obliged. It saved him the trouble of explaining himself on the ‘live’ of it all. And Thor was in no mood to be a mood killer for the evening.

The rough scrape of the chair was loud in the otherwise quiet space and Brunnhilde quickly closed the gap between them, swinging her leg over thickened thighs to settle against him in a straddle. 

“What are you doing?” The question was nothing more than a whisper when his hands skimmed her thighs, pushing upwards to the nape of her neck, tracing the tendrils at the edge of her braid crown. 

“Presuming.”

Slowly, and with a reserve of concentration he most certainly owed to the tea, Thor worked to undo her hair, taking out the twists of braid and flowers, watching dark curls and bright petals tumble down bare brown shoulders.

With a sigh, Brunnhilde pressed her forehead to his, the familiarity of the gesture a still point in the changing landscape of their current situation. Her fingers cradled his face, sifting through the thick beard to guide his lips to hers, letting them hover for a moment, just to hear the quickened pace of his breathing, as some sort of sign that this was in fact, what he wanted, before she indulged, taking her kiss with a low groan. 

Thor's grip tightened in her hair and he deepened the kiss, desperate for the press of her body against his own. Licking into those soft moans, his hips shifted beneath hers, gentle rock giving way to a messy thrust to meet Brunnhilde’s insistent rhythm, only to falter when she gripped the back of his neck, clutching him tightly while she worked herself against him, needy in a way that only heightened his own want. 

Insistent hands pushed at the straps of her sundress, sliding them down her shoulders. Thor felt uncoordinated, fumbling like a schoolboy and flustered by the keening sounds she made, tumbling out between their kisses, only parting when the burn in his chest grew too great to ignore.

He worked to catch his breath and steady his hands, head dropping to her shoulder, lips caressing the fragrant brown skin at the curve of her neck while he dropped a hand between her thighs. 

“Yes,” came the sigh, her fingers releasing their hold on the back of his neck and sliding upwards to undo the messy bun. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower and Brunnhilde let the silky strands slip through her fingers before gripping a fistful and tugging his lips back to hers, letting him feel her moans while she worked her hips against his hand. “Please, please…” 

It was less about teasing and more of an uncertainty, unable to trust in his ability to follow through on that pleasure, feeling so out of practice but the want made him bolder, and perhaps it was the alcohol still coursing through him, shoving aside the doubts as deftly as he pushed into her panties, two fingers stroking her soaked slit with a confidence that grew at the sound of her moan, low and lovely, feeling it against his lips before she silenced herself with another kiss. 

The feel of her, practically melting into his touch, lifting her hips in an effort to guide him exactly where he needed to be, fucking herself on his fingers until she could barely manage kissing him, eventually dropping her forehead to his and riding out her pleasure.

The steady creaking of the chair mixed with the sound of her sighs, and Thor curled an arm around her waist, keeping her close enough to feel every shudder. He managed to catch the whisper of his name and he pressed his thumb to her clit, just to hear the hitch in her breathing as her hips continue to rock into him.

Their mouths met once more when she climaxed, muffling the whine of it with those heady, drugging presses that left Thor shuddering against her. Wetness pooled in his palm, and he slipped a hand from her heat to tug at the top of her dress, thumb teasing a dark nipple when he sucked at her bottom lip. 

Brunnhilde’s insistent fingers wandered, stroking him through the front of his sweatpants as her other  hand tugged hard at golden locks and Thor hissed at the overstimulation of it all, the sound melting into a quiet moan while palming her breast. 

The unmistakable crack of wood caused them both to still, their breathing labored and hot against flushed skin and Thor groaned at the loss of her hold in his hair. 

“Bed,” she murmured, pressing the word into his collarbone. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she moved off his lap, fingers gripping the edge of the table behind her for support while she studied him.

He was momentarily dazed at the sight of her, dress mussed, curls fanning out past her shoulders and the hunger in those dark eyes stoking the need that settled in his belly. It propelled him out of the now ruined chair, uncaring as the splintered leg cracked completely, toppling the chair on its side in a way that would have been comical had he not been so entirely wrapped up in her. 

Brunnhilde tugged his hand, leading him down the darkened hallway to his bedroom. Neither bothered turning on the lights. He let her undress him, feeling the nerves return just as he felt her fingers push under his snug t-shirt. Different from the last time she’d touched him like this. That was ages ago. Abs ago. Now a softness that brought out a guarded feeling that felt foreign to him, but his thoughts were stilled when their lips met again, and Brunnhilde tugged at the shirt. 

Dutifully, Thor lifted his arms upwards, breaking their kiss and returning once his shirt was off. He could hear her kicking off her sandals, one of them catching him on the ankle but he could hardly find the capacity to care, not when his hands were busy unzipping her sundress. The soft material went the way of his shirt and eventually her panties followed, soaked as they were. 

Naked now, Brunnhilde backed away, moving towards the bed and despite her silence, her body beckoned him to follow. Thor joined her, kicking off his sweats and tugging down the heavy blanket and watching as Brunnhilde slipped between the cool, clean sheets, curls spreading on the soft pillowcase as she shifted on her side, facing the empty spot that she waited expectantly for him to fill..

“Come here.” 

He didn’t need the command, but glad she voiced it all the same. He settled beside her, sheet resting on his hip and he gave a soft grunt when her leg followed, hitching around his waist and he pulled her close, inclining his head when she reached for him. 

Eyes closed, he breathed her in. Heady scent of her, pressed to his stomach, and if he kept still enough he could practically feel the faint, lingering clenches from her earlier climax. The thought made him twinge, his hips giving a small roll, the jolt of friction when the ridge of him met her center causing them both to stutter. 

Her fingers shook when they traced his lips, and he pressed a kiss to the tips before she wandered upwards, stroking the scar that still marred his right eye. He still wore the other, given to him by Rocket, the golden color a stark difference to the blue in a way that made Brunnhilde long for the eye patch. 

Still, she kissed it, lips brushing the edge of the jagged scar and she didn’t miss the shudder that followed. Or the tightened hold on her thigh. All it took was a hard rock of her hips for the head of him to brush her center, the sensation of it all drawing his name from her lips in a hot moan and she wrapped her arm under his, pushing up her hips to grind and move against him. 

Hand trembling, he hitched up her thigh, parting slowly as he gave a hard thrust, sinking into her slick heat with a groan. 

Brunnhilde muffled her whimper in his chest, breath warm against his skin as she moved, grinding her hips to meet his steady, strokes. Slow thrusts and deep ins and she felt _everything_. The rapid pace of his heartbeat, the ragged breaths, and the way he shook against her. 

Thor curled his arm around her middle, his hold tight as their bodies maintained the unhurried rhythm, drawing out moans and sighs from the other between heated kisses. 

When she pushed at his shoulder, Thor stilled, heart racing and momentarily stunned when Brunnhilde simply tightened her legs around him, using the leverage to pin his back to the mattress and shift atop him in a straddle. The move so effortless and a testament to her strength that he could only watch her, completely dazed, brain short-circuiting a little when she lifted her hips and joined their bodies once more, sinking onto him with a well-timed roll and a pleasurable sigh. 

Instinctively, his hands braced her hips, hungry for the rock of them and the way she hit a bouncing grind, content to let her control the pace, torturous at it was. Want pooled in the pit of his stomach, sluggish and molten and he met her movements with determined thrusts. Pushing a hand up the smooth plane of her stomach to cup her breast, teasing a dark nipple until she cried out, slapping a palm to his chest, bracing herself as her hips picked up speed and her thighs trembled against him. 

She leaned in just as Thor pushed up, lips meeting in a frenzied kiss and the nip to his bottom lip edged the line of painful but felt so damn good, a jolt of white-hot pleasure racing down his spine. The call of his name tumbling from her lips was enough to muffle the doubts in his head, enough to keep him focused on the feel of her, slick walls, hot mouth, and the way she wanted him, like this. Messy, uncoordinated, half-drunk and more than just a little gone for her already. 

Chest heaving, he chased after her kisses, following her when she leaned back, sitting up and wrapping both arms around her slender frame. 

"Brunn--" He lost the rest when she moaned against him, both hands carding through his hair as she rocked her hips into his shallow thrusts, sweat-slicked bodies chasing down the release that he felt more than heard, the building tremble in her body and the way she suddenly went rigid with a low cry before relaxing against him. 

She nosed his hair aside and buried her face in his neck, lips meeting the curve of it with a soft kiss. Her hips had stilled but her pussy gripped him greedily, the relentless flutter wringing out his release and with a sharp inhale and a hard thrust he shuddered into his climax. 

His body felt like a livewire, senses heightened and the sound of rain at the windows could be heard over his labored breathing. 

Dipping his head, Thor nudged his nose to hers, patient as she took her time to turn slightly, enough to catch his lips in a feather light press. 

Her hand smoothed down his broad back and he was content to let her touch wander over him, shaking off the knee-jerk reaction to shy away, because it'd been so very long. 

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, soft touch and barely there kisses, listening to the rain but much too soon she was moving away from him, the loss of heat and contact knocking him out of the moment. 

When it seemed like she made to leave the bed completely, Thor reached out, fingers catching hers to halt her movements. 

"Stay, Brunnhilde. Please."

In the dim light of the room, it was hard to make out her face, but he could sense the hesitancy rolling off her in waves. However it was entirely her decision, something they both knew. 

Relief washed over him when she joined him again, settling beside him in bed and he immediately reached for the sheet to cover them both. Her back was pressed to his chest and he draped an arm across her hip. 

"Thank you." He pressed the words to her shoulder, wrapped in a tender kiss and sighed when he felt her fingers in his hair. 

They fell asleep that way, limbs tangled, soothed by the gentle sounds of rain and distant thunder. 


End file.
